two ~ reality
PART OF ME knows that I am suffocating within these walls. The air is heavy with the burden of lost potential.
The other part of me is floating far away, stolen by someone who didn't know what she was stealing away as she stole down the road.
Stolen, stealing, stole.
Stole, stolen, stealing.
Stealing, stole, stolen.
I could repeat the words over and over and over again, but they still don't make much sense to me.
I wonder if they ever will again.
○
Almost every Saturday to pass me by during the last eight years had started in the same way.
The day would begin at eight o'clock, regardless of the time of year or how dark the sky was outside. I'd pull myself out of bed, which never did get any easier, and take a shower to wake myself up. I would tug a brush through my wet, tangled mess of hair and tiptoe downstairs to have breakfast, which was always a slightly lonely, quick affair.
I would head into Dad's room at eight-thirty. Without fail, he would be quietly lying there, waiting for me to get him into his chair, fed and medicated.
Jasper would usually arrive at around ten to give Dad a bath, which gave me a chance to run to the supermarket and do our weekly shop.
It was the routine which had defined the last three years, during which Dad had had his second stroke and his condition had worsened. For the first few years after my mum passed away, he had still been able to walk. Back then, it was more a case of me being there to cook and clean up around the house and make sure that there was food in the fridge.
The changes had happened slowly, and now I could hardly remember a time when life hadn't been like this. It was as though the last eight years had blurred into one giant mess of a memory.
When I woke up that morning, I didn't realise that today would be different.
"Right, I'm off to the shops now. Be good for Jasper, Dad," I said lightly, squeezing his hand gently. When Dad didn't squeeze it back, an unexpected lump formed in my throat, and I found myself having to blink back tears.
"Of course he will be, Asp. When is he not?" Jasper said, a grin on his face as he nudged me.
Our eyes met, and Jasper's smile turned a little sad. We both knew Dad's behaviour had been getting more and more erratic, and he was having problems with his memory. Every so often, he would say or do something unexpected, which would throw me so completely off balance that I wondered whether I was hallucinating.
The first time it had happened, Jasper had been there with me.
I had reached across to wipe a smudge of oatmeal away from the corner of Dad's mouth, when he grabbed my hand. His own hands shook more often than they didn't, these days, but there was no mistaking the strength in them in that moment.
"Who are you?" Dad had said, staring at me angrily.
I had frozen, my lips parting, but it was like I couldn't bring myself to move beyond that. My heart felt as though it had just been pummelled; the breath had been knocked out of me, and all that remained was a painful throbbing in my chest.
Jasper caught sight of my expression, his brown eyes flitting between me and my dad.
"It's Aspen, Aaron. Your daughter Aspen," Jasper said firmly.
